The Reaping
by GabrielaHP
Summary: A brief look into the thoughts of the people in Katniss's life as they watch her volunteer to take Prim's place.
1. Chapter 1

Title: The Reaping

Rating: K

Summary: The Hunger Games reaping as seen by the various people in Katniss's life.

Disclaimer: I own no part of the Hunger Games as they belong to Suzanne Collins – I'm just using them for fun!

* * *

"Primrose Everdeen"

With those two words, my heart feels like it has slowed, the blood in my veins trying desperately to get through the mush that is now my body. I turn, like everybody else, to find the small 12 year old child in the crowd of other frightened-looking children. Because that's all we are – children. There is a murmured dissent among the crowd – nobody likes it when a 12 year old is chosen, especially not this specific child. I can't believe that out of all the names in the bowl, Effie Trinket has pulled out that one.

I see the tiny blonde girl break away from her place near the back of the crowd and begin to make her way toward the stage where she will take her place as the girl who has been reaped. Then my gaze shifts and I'm searching the mass for Prim's older sister. The girl I can't help but have been watching for years. Katniss.

I find her face, frozen in a look of what I can only describe as complete horror. Everyone in District 12 knows the Everdeen sisters – Prim for her caring nature and sweet charm, and Katniss for her determination and love for her sister as she has struggled to keep her alive. After their father was killed in the mines, everyone in the district saw Katniss fight to put food in her mother's and sister's stomachs, while her mother was rarely, if ever, seen outside the home. And I know I had seen it more up close probably than anyone. I will never forget her face as my mother yelled at her to stay out of our garbage cans, which having just been emptied held nothing for her anyway – the look of absolute despair that came to her face as she seemed to realize that she was out of options. The clothes she'd held in her hands had brought her no profit and it was clear that the burden of keeping food on the table was growing too heavy for her small 11 year old shoulders to carry.

As I had continued working near the oven, my eyes drifted often to the girl outside, who had sunk down into the mud at the bottom of a tree. A few minutes, some burned bread, and a red, swollen cheek later, I was outside near her, pretending to feed the pigs the bread I had just ruined. I glanced quickly to my right at the door to the bakery before tossing the bread to my left. It landed directly in front of her and her eyes widened with a confused expression on her face. Before either of us got caught, I turned and made my way back inside. Though that was the only time I had ever been that close or interacted with her in any way, there have been many times in our years at school when I would be looking at her only to have her head turn and her eyes meet mine. There had also been a few times when I was who felt a gaze on me only to see her eyes watching me. Her gray eyes were almost always blank, her face never betraying any feeling, but I couldn't but wonder if she remembered that I was the boy with the bread. It was a day I'd never forget.

I watch now as Katniss stares after her sister for a few moments before suddenly moving, calling her name.

"Prim! Prim!" I feel my face contort in pain as I hear the desperation in her voice. It is clear that Katniss never imagined Prim's name to haphazardly be picked out of the glass bowl, a single slip of paper amongst thousands of others.

I can't take my eyes off the scene as Katniss sweeps in front of her sister, throwing her arms out as if Effie Trinket with her unnaturally pink hair and perfect pant suit was actually a physical threat to Prim. "I volunteer!" she gasps out. "I volunteer as tribute!"

My face crumples and I look down. I feel stinging behind my eyes and clench my jaw to hold myself together. I listen as Prim starts screaming her sister's name and it's all I can do not to push my way through the boys around me and grab both sisters to….to what? If I had my choice, I'd run with them and tuck them away somewhere out of reach of the Capitol.

But as I look up, I see another man stepping forward. I am not surprised to see Katniss's tall, brown-haired friend Gale. I see his hands shake slightly as he wraps his arms around Prim and lifts her up and away from Katniss. I'm certain he wants more than anything to wrap those same arms around Katniss and save her from the terrible fate she's just volunteered for.

"Up you go, Catnip," I hear him say unsteadily and at this I see her chin tremble the tiniest bit before she turns to mount the stage. Effie seems positively thrilled to have a volunteer tribute in a District where no one ever does because Hunger Games is synonymous with death. None of the rest of us in District 12 are happy, and everyone shows it – remaining still when Effie calls for applause. Then on the screens around the square I see one, then two, then four more people silently touch their fingers to their lips before holding them up to Katniss in a salute. I do the same and soon everyone in the square except those on stage is noiselessly holding their hands to the girl who has once again saved her sister from certain death.

Before long the moment is ruined by Haymitch Abernathy's pounding footsteps and loud voice as he declares that he likes Katniss's spunk, then takes a dive off stage. Effie looks almost relieved to be free of him as she crosses the stage to the bowl full of slips of papers for the boys, her high heels click-clacking on the wooden surface. She reaches in and pulls out a slip before clearly reading the tribute's name.

The male tribute for the 74th Hunger Games is me.

I feel rather than see thousands of faces turn toward me and I realize that it's my turn to make way to the stage, to Katniss. I hear whispers of "Good luck, Peeta" on either side of me as the boys part and allow me passage. I feel as though I've been hit by some electric shock – not only because of my name being drawn but the realization that the only time I will have spoken to the girl on stage beside me is shortly before we will be forced to battle our hunger, the arena, and each other in order to stay alive.

It is in that moment that I start forming the plan. Effie goes on about some details and information regarding this year's games but the only thing I am aware of is Katniss beside me. It is clear, and was before this reaping, that Katniss has people here who need her. As Effie gestures for us to shake hands, I turn to the olive-skinned, grey-eyed girl at my side and we both reach out to grasp each other's hands. I can't help but give hers a small squeeze of reassurance. It is in that moment that I decide to save Katniss Everdeen.


	2. Chapter 2

Title: The Reaping

Rating: K

Summary: The Hunger Games reaping as seen by the various people in Katniss's life.

Disclaimer: I own no part of the Hunger Games as they belong to Suzanne Collins – I'm just using them for fun!

Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews - they're always much appreciated!

* * *

"Primrose Everdeen."

It takes a moment for me to react to the name that has just been called, even though it's my own. I had been dreading hearing the name Katniss Everdeen so much so that I didn't even worry that much about hearing my own. I see every head in the sea made up of other potential tributes turn in my direction and realize that I have to move. I am the female tribute for the 74th Hunger Games.

My feet grudgingly step forward, going up the aisle between the two groups of the children of District 12. I feel smaller than I ever have before I can't look anywhere but at the stage – I don't want to see my friends from school or Gale. And I can't look at Katniss – I can't see the horrible look that is no doubt on her face right now. I know she doesn't realize that I know of everything she has done to keep the three of us alive after father died, but I do. And I'm determined to be just as strong as she would be if it was her walking the long path up to her fate.

My right foot raises, ready to mount the steps to take my place next to Effie Trinket as one of the two tributes for our district when I hear the strangled call of my name. I know without looking it is my sister – and the sound of her voice brings very near to crying. Never have I heard such a desperation in her voice. Though I've never heard Katniss sound that way, I know the tone of voice from the loved ones that sit or lay beside the miners mother and I have cared for as they pass on. It is that very sound that I try so hard to relieve by learning everything I can about healing. But there's nothing that can be done. Or at least I don't think so until I feel Katniss yank me backward, throwing her arms out in my protection.

"I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!" her voice echoes in the square as everything goes silent. Except me. I can't sit by as my sister, the one who has been protecting me and making sure I've been well fed and even happy, takes my place. I scream and thrash, trying to get around Katniss, trying to convince them that she can't volunteer and that her words carry no weight. She tells me to let go, but I can't think of anything else but not letting Katniss up on that stage, wrapping my thin arms around her until I feel someone behind me, entrapping me with his arms.

I scream louder and struggle against Gale's hold. I can feel the tears sliding down my face and there is no end to them as my sister turns around to look at us.

"Up you get Catnip," he says, he says, his voice shaking. And I feel the rest of his body shaking too. I realize that Gale has accepted that Katniss is going to be this year's female tribute in the Hunger Games and with that realization, the energy is suddenly sapped and I go limp in Gale's arms. I can see why Katniss enjoys his company so much. His hands hold me up, one hand goes around my waist while the other strokes the top of my head as we watch Katniss climb the stairs to take her place on stage. I know Gale loves my sister and if he is not fighting what is happening, then I know there really must be no hope of keeping Katniss safe in District 12.

Gale pulls me back into him and toward the group and we stand silently – him strong and unwilling to show his sadness and me broken down, shoulders hunched, still crying.

As Effie almost squeals in delight that someone has volunteered as a tribute, she calls for everyone to give a round of applause. At this, I stand up straighter, plant my feet into the ground, and hold my arms straight and tense at my side. They will not get a standing ovation from me. I'm surprised and touched when I see that they will also not get any clapping from the rest of District 12. Not a single person has put their hands together. I watch Katniss and see the obvious surprise on her face at this move. She doesn't know just how much everyone respects her.

But their silence is not the only thing our neighbors have to contribute. Slowly, people in the crowd put their fingers to their lips, then raise them up to Katniss in a show of honor and farewell. I can't help but follow the path of their salute up to the stage, where Katniss stands. Most people wouldn't be able to tell, but I can see in the clenching of her jaw and tightening of her eyes that this gesture has touched her more than she could ever express.

This silence doesn't last though and soon Haymitch is thundering across the stage, attempting to hug Effie and Katniss before falling off the front into the crowd. Then Effie is back at the microphone, ready to pluck out the unlucky boy tribute. In the split second before she reads the name, my hand reaches up on its own to grasp Gale's hand, which now rests on my shoulder. I don't know who will pull me off of him if he is called.

It's not Gale, though. It's the baker's son, Peeta. I can't help but feel sad as I picture the pretty cakes I always make Katniss look at when we go by. Even though he's got two brothers, one who could step up and take his place, no one does. Tears fill my eyes and I can't see anything but blurred shapes as I think about what Katniss did. For me. I know it wasn't for our mother because if it was, Katniss would know that it makes more sense for her to stay – she can keep mother going and keep food coming in even if mother wouldn't be able to.

I've watched for years now as a child's name is called and no one comes forward to volunteer to spare them – not siblings, not cousins, not friends. No one. But my sister has done this incredible thing for me. I know that in her mind, she has volunteered to die in my place. And I love her so much the only thing I can do is make her promise me to really try. In 73 years, only 2 people from District 12 have ever won the Hunger Games, and I know Katniss will be thinking of how the odds are definitely against her and logically she has no chance. I know she will leave preparing us for life without her, not intending to return.

It's too soon when I see Effie start directing Peet and Katniss away after they've shared a handshake. I can't help but step forward as if to follow her, but Gale's arms tense and he holds me in place. I stop and am left looking helplessly up at the stage as my sister walks away. Before descending down the steps by the exit at the rear of the stage, she turns back and finds me staring at her from the crowd. She smiles slightly - I know she's just trying to keep me from worrying – and mouths "Love you little duck" before I watch her turn and go.


	3. Chapter 3

Title: The Reaping

Rating: K

Summary: The Hunger Games reaping as seen by the various people in Katniss's life.

Disclaimer: I own no part of the Hunger Games as they belong to Suzanne Collins – I'm just using them for fun!

A/N: Thanks for the reviews - it's always nice to know what the reader thinks! Hopefully it's not getting boring having the same turn of events happening in each chapter, but I'm interested in exploring the thoughts of the people in Katniss's life when Prim's name was called.

* * *

"Primrose Everdeen."

The instant I hear the name, I feel the telltale pounding of blood in my ears and my vision begins to blur at the edges before surrendering completely, making the world around me warp like a funhouse mirror. My body goes limp but before I feel the hard stones of the square beneath my knees, hands lift me on every side. I see one shape move into my vision and Hazelle's face slowly comes into focus. She reaches down to grasp my hand and no words are needed – every year we, and every other parent in District 12, watch as our children are corralled in the town square as we stand helpless around them, hoping with everything in us that our own child's name is not called.

With the help of the hands that caught me from fainting, I stand up, still gripping Hazelle's hand in an attempt to stay upright. I peer anxiously around the other children gathered and watch as my daughter, my youngest, my baby separates from the crowd and walks slowly up toward where Effie Trinket is standing on stage, holding the one slip of paper that has her name on it.

I can't take my eyes off the daughter who looks so like me. I hear the parents and other citizens of District 12 around the square murmur in displeasure at the name that has been pulled out of the glass bowl this year. But their mutterings are nothing compared to what I feel like doing right now, what I'm holding back from doing. I want to break away from the people around me, run up the aisle, and hold my daughter, keeping her safe from the Hunger Games.

And then I see someone doing that very thing. My mouth opens and I stare in horror as Katniss yells her sister's name and the other children part to let her through. Prim has just reached the bottom of the stairs when everything slows. As if everything was in slow-motion, I watch as Katniss grabs Prim's right arm with one hand, thrusting her behind her own body, and steps fully in front of her, as if shielding her from the view of Effie. Though this has happened in the span of one breath, it has felt longer.

"I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!"

I close my eyes and tears that can't be held in leak out the corners. I want to feel happy that Prim has been spared, that someone has cared enough to step forward, but how can I be joyful when that volunteer is my other daughter? In a district where being a tribute for the Hunger Games is synonymous with a cruel, harsh death, what Katniss has done is indescribable. It's an incredible declaration of just how much she loves Prim and the lengths at which she will go to protect her.

I watch as my youngest daughter fights to pull the eldest back from the steps. I want nothing more than to pull my hands up to my ears and block out the sound of my daughters fighting for the title of female tribute and almost certain death. But I can't do that – I did that when their father died and I will not do that again. I came very close to losing my daughters doing that once and I will not let it happen again.

I feel Hazelle's fingers tighten around my hand and I see Gale breaking away from the other boys. We both watch as he lifts Prim up and off Katniss before he and Katniss lock eyes for a brief moment. He then pulls Prim out of harm's way to join the rest of the girls whose names haven't been called. I realize not for the first time just how grateful I am that Katniss has had him through the years. I can't help but wonder how this turn of events is affecting him.

Katniss takes her place on stage and when Effie calls for a round of applause, not a single person claps. I feel hands of those around me on my shoulders, giving me what they hope is a comforting squeeze. Then I feel people shifting around me as everyone does the salute rarely seen in District 12. All I can do is look around in complete shock. For the first time I realize just how much our community has truly embraced my children. Of course, their father was always well liked and respected, but I had thought that died with him in the mines. It's in that moment that the puzzle comes together and I know how our little family of three survived after he died. In the haze that are the months after his death, I feel particular moments sharpen and I hear Katniss telling Prim about the Hob and learning about snares. It is that moment that I realize just how much Katniss has done the things she has learned – things that should have been my responsibility.

My thoughts are brought back to the reaping as I hear a loud, sloppy voice and footsteps before looking just in time to see our only victor, Haymitch Abernathy, take a dive off the stage.

Then the time has come for the male tribute reaping, and I squeeze Hazelle's hand, hoping that she does not suffer through what I have in the last few minutes. We both can't help but breathe a sigh of relief at the name being someone other than Gale. But I feel empathetic sadness for the boy's parents. I knew his father in school and have fond memories of his friendly manner and upbeat attitude. I remember walking with Prim once around the town square and she pulled me over to look at the cakes in the baker's window. He must have seen her for a moment later he came outside with a sugar frosting rose especially for her. She had never had anything so sweet and it had been a long time since I had seen such a sweet gesture.

I look now at Prim and see the ducktail formed from her un-tucked shirt and can't help but remember the day four years ago when I first attended the reaping not as a sympathetic neighbor or worried friend, but as a mother. Katniss had worn the same dress Prim was now wearing – I think maybe I hoped that it would bring us the same luck it did the first time around. But it hasn't. The original wearer is leaving the stage now to prepare for the Hunger Games. And I realize that this time Katniss will not be there to pick up the slack and I will need to be stronger for Prim, just as her older sister was.


	4. Chapter 4

Title: The Reaping

Rating: K

Summary: The Hunger Games reaping as seen by the various people in Katniss's life.

Disclaimer: I own no part of the Hunger Games as they belong to Suzanne Collins – I'm just using them for fun!

* * *

"Primrose Everdeen."

I take another drink from my bottle as the girl tribute is called forward by Effie. The girl means very little to me other than the fact that I have seen her older sister around the Hob frequently, bringing in game and other things she no doubt has gotten from the forbidden forest. I can picture her unlucky younger sister now, walking slowly up to the front, probably with a petrified look frozen on her face. It's an expression I've been forced to watch often as year after year two tributes join me on stage to enter the Hunger Games, knowing that at least one of them will die, and probably both of them.

I picture the little girl's blonde braids, probably shaking slightly with the rest of her body as her mind goes over the innumerable gruesome deaths she has watched in the past every year. Wondering if hers will be as bloody and dreadful.

I wince at the thought and lean against the wall of the alley in which I am standing. I listen to the crowd mutter their feelings that's unfair but also sighing in relief that it wasn't their kid or friend or neighbor whose name has just been called.

I can see the majority of the stage and know that any moment I will see the young girl's blonde hair and terrified expression rise into sight as she climbs the steps. But before she even gets to the stage, I hear someone yelling in the crowd. No, not yelling. Screaming. Another girl is calling the tribute's name, and I know instinctively that it is the girl I've seen so often in the Hob, her sister. It could only be a sibling that would dare come forward and even then, that rarely happens. The people of District 12 have come to expect and accept this arrangement – that every year they will watch as someone from their district – and sometimes even someone from their family – is taken from them. It is not something many people question anymore. Then I hear words I have heard but once in my time as a mentor.

"I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!"

I stagger and it has nothing to do with the drink in my hand. Before I can stop myself, I am stepping forward to watch what is happening. I see the older girl standing in front of her sister, arms thrust out to her side. It should be funny that it looks like she is shielding the girl from pathetic Effie Trinket, but it's not because I know what she's actually protecting her from. Certain death. She's holding out her arms to ward off death that the Hunger Games always bring to the tributes of District 12.

Her little sister screams and wraps her arms around her, trying to stop the girl from going in her place. I see the hard look on the face of the girl who has just volunteered; she is trying to hold back tears. Then a boy steps out from the crowd – him I've also seen in the Hob, always with her – and pulls the petite girl off her older sister. He murmurs something to the girl who's just volunteered before pulling the sister back to the crowd.

The girl takes the stage and Effie asks her name.

"Katniss Everdeen."

At that, Effie gives a squeal and makes an inane comment about knowing they were sisters before calling for applause from the crowd gathered in the square. I never clap for the tributes. It's not a matter to rejoice and the Capitol will not make me turn it into that.

And to my surprise, no one else claps either. This is a first. I recognize the gesture of the people and for the first time in a very long time, I feel a little spark of hope. This act from the people of District 12 is an opposition. A small one yes, but still it reeks of disagreement.

The girl on the stage – Katniss – seems surprised too before masking it quickly with a blank expression. But this is fruitless once she sees the people in the crowd before her put the three middle fingers of their hand to their lips and raise them toward her. Her expression shows that she is clearly astounded by this gesture. I see tears come to her eyes and feel the need to do something – she obviously been trying hard not to cry in the face of her sister being put forward to death and then taking her place, but this gesture is threatening to undo that.

I clamber my way on stage and lumber over to Effie and her absurd orange hair. I give her a hug before turning to the girl and draping an arm heavily around her shoulders.

"I like this one! She's got spunk," I say, hoping my slurred words don't sound too forced, but sure enough none of them realize just how serious I am. We have all seen the games year after year during the required viewings. We've seen children rip, stab, electrocute, and pummel each other to death year after year. This girl knows exactly what she is getting into and still volunteered.

Then I stumble forward and take a great half-leap, half-fall off stage. Before I land on the hard ground below, I hear Katniss let out a half-sob, a small representation of everything I know she is holding in. I almost hope that I will land on my head and knock myself unconscious so I don't have to watch the rest of the reaping. But luck has never been on my side, starting with my own reaping, and I just lie there, feigning that I've either been rendered unconscious by the fall or have drunk so much that I have passed out.

I lay still on the ground, listening as Effie clacks her way over to the bowl for the male tributes, reaches in, and pulls out a slip of paper.

"Peeta Mellark." Her chipper voices echoes slightly off the buildings surrounding the square, and a split second later I hear the smallest of gasps from the stage. For whatever reason, the girl has a reaction to hearing who her male counterpart will be. This is a first and definitely not what I would have expected from the girl. I think about the numerous times I've seen her bartering in the Hob or having a bowl of what that woman calls soup at Greasy Sae's. Even though it's been clear from watching that the Hob has taken this girl in, I've never gotten the impression that she has taken any of them in as friends or confidants, excepting her male friend who pulled the sister off her earlier and possibly the mayor's daughter. So how does she know the baker's son – a boy she should have no connections with, her being Seam and him being one of the more wealthy vendors. But I hear in that small noise of surprise and dismay that she does somehow know him, and I even more loathe to mentor them on the Hunger Games.

The crowd is now dispersing and it isn't long before I am free to get up and fake-stumble my way across the square to the Hob, where I buy up more of my white liquor from Ripper, who gives me a sympathetic look, before continuing to my own house in Victor's Village. There is only one time a year I withhold from my drink, and now that that time has passed, I open a bottle and prepare for the train ride to the Capitol.


	5. Chapter 5

Title: The Reaping

Rating: K

Summary: The Hunger Games reaping as seen by the various people in Katniss's life.

Disclaimer: I own no part of the Hunger Games as they belong to Suzanne Collins – I'm just using them for fun!

A/N: Thanks for the reviews! This is the last chapter I plan on doing in this story...I feel chapters past this would get rather redundant and wouldn't really serve a purpose. I hope everyone liked the story!

* * *

"Primrose Everdeen"

The moment I hear the name called for the female tribute, I know that Prim will not be the one going. _She_ will volunteer; I know this as assuredly as I know which snare to use when wanting to catch rabbits. I look back and see Katniss moving through the crowd of District 12 children, screaming Prim's name. I have to hold my arms straight at my sides, fists clenched, to stop myself from running after her. I force myself to freeze, like I do when we are hunting and see a deer roam into our sights. Only this time it is not a peaceful, alert posture I am frozen into – it is a tense, protective state. I have felt this way every year since Katniss entered the reaping. I've watched every year, unwillingly anticipating the moment her name might be called. With the amount of tessera she has taken in her name, the odds have not been in her favor. And even though the odds were in Prim's favor, it hasn't mattered because we've arrived at the same outcome.

All I want to do now is run forward and save Katniss from becoming a pawn in the Capitol's disgusting game. I feel even more helpless because even if I were to follow Katniss and throw my arms in front of her as she is doing for Prim, it wouldn't do any good. I can't save her as she is saving her sister.

"I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!" I want to take my eyes off the horrible scene playing out before me, but I can't help but stare as Katniss stands before the stage, panting slightly, taking a hunched stance similar to the wild dogs that encounter us in the woods, her arms spready. At Effie's clear approval, Prim begins to scream and the sound breaks me from my trance. I stride forward and those around me move, knowing that I am as much Katniss's family as Prim is.

By the time I reach them, Prim has wrapped her arms around her sister's slim frame. Katniss stays turned frontward toward the stage – I can tell she's trying hard not to cry – and hear her tell Prim to let go. I gently wrap my arms around the younger one, pulling her hands away and lifting her up and off her older sister. At the lifted weight and eased struggling, Katniss turns around, a confused expression on her face. Her eyes clear immediately upon seeing me and I see the tiniest hint of tears forming at the corners of her gray eyes as she meets my gaze. The moment probably lasts less than a second, but it feels much longer. Our eyes lock and I hope that mine are telling everything I want them to – things I'd never had the courage to say on our many ramblings in the woods.

I become aware that the time has come for Katniss to take her place as the female tribute on stage. "Up you get, Catnip," I say softly, not surprised to feel and hear a tremor in my voice. I want to smile at the nickname and give her some reassurance but can't find it in me to do so.

I retreat back into the crowd, keeping Prim close, telling myself that I will have the time to say the things I want to before she leaves. There is always a period before the tributes leave for the Capitol when family and friends get to say goodbye to their loved one. That will be my last chance before Katniss leaves.

I feel Prim's shoulder shake as she cries and I wrap my arms firmly around her. When Effie calls for us all to congratulate Katniss on joining the long list of tributes - tributes that in District 12's case have ended up dead – I expect the cattle of people that make up District 12 to clap blandly as they do every year. But this year, this tribute is different. No one claps. No one even makes the move to clap before embarrassedly realizing no one else is. Everyone stands silent and still, looking up at Effie's too-bright, too-cheerful orange hair. Maybe these aren't the broken, defeated people I thought them to be.

I realize in the next second that my previous assessment of them had been wrong as I watch those gathered raise the three fingers of their right hand to their mouths and raise them toward Katniss. My eyes follow the line their fingers point in the air to my friend standing on stage. Katniss, who has never realized just how much people like her, looks close to crying under her civil, toughened exterior. After a few moments of silence, our only living winning tribute, Haymitch Abernathy, stumbles across the stage, reprieving the moment of solemnity. Everyone is watching Haymitch, but my eyes remain on Katniss. After roughly hugging her, Haymitch falls off stage and I watch as Katniss's face contorts for the briefest of moments – a crack in the hard armor she's worn since her father died and her mother went comatose. I know that had I been standing next to her, I would have heard a sob escape her lips. Her mask is back in place within seconds and I guess that nobody else has seen what I just did.

And now the time has come for me to get nervous for myself as Effie loudly clacks her way over to the glass bowl that holds the names of the boys of District 12. Many of those slips of paper are mine – a plentiful stock for Effie. I realize I'm more nervous now than I was this morning coming into this. Between Katniss and myself, one of us has to stay here to be the provider for the other's family. Plus, there's the fact that if my name is called, Katniss and I will go into the arena together and the Capitol will put us against each other. It's true we could form an alliance but in the end, there is only ever one winner. Of course, we would never fight each other and I know that if my name were called now, I would do whatever it took to ensure Katniss's return to District 12. But if both of us go in, there's no guarantee that even one of us would come home.

I feel Prim's head push back into my body as she looks up at my face, looking for assurance that I am not nervous that my name could possibly called, is likely to be called. I stare ahead at Effie Trinket but see Katniss just to her right, watching me. I know we are both thinking the same thing. Upon hearing a name other than my own cheerfully called out by Effie, I sigh and turn my eyes to Katniss, expecting to see some faint sign of relief on her face as well. But this is not what I see. Instead, for the shortest moment, her face transforms into one of shock, confusion, and what I can only describe as panic as her eyes search out Peeta Mellark. She's straightened her features as he makes his way to the stage, but I can still see the alarm in her eyes. She meets Peeta's eyes when they shake hands and I see recognition there for both of them – they know each other in some way more intimate that in the way everybody in District 12 knows everybody else. I don't have long to wonder at it before they are taking Katniss away.


End file.
